


jezebel boy

by orphan_account



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-04 17:56:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's the Jezebel of the XY chromosome, screaming eros in a choir of agape. A slut. The boy is a slut. Layman's terms can't compare.</p>
<p>[teen!frank/teacher!gerard au]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a rolling boil

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaah i'm really excited to start this 
> 
> please let me know what you think so far

Nabokov would call that boy a faunlet.

  


I've seen him around, you know. I've seen the way the girls turn up their noses and the boys turn their faces away as he struts down the hall, oozing with confidence and mononucleosis.

  


I've seen plenty of him, like the way he stares at me across the classroom while I ramble on about the dysfunctional Fitzgeralds, enveloping the end of his pencil between his lips and sucking until I shy away and turn to back to the whiteboard. To call that boy promiscuous is somewhat of a joke.

  


He's either fifteen or sixteen, I think. A sophomore. A sophomore with the sexual appetite enough to make Casanova's stomach roil.

  


The boy is often the hot topic in the teacher's lounge, too. Especially in a small town like this, word spreads like wildfire, like disease. It hops from one mouth to the ear of the next, mutating along the way like a virus. Today was the ongoing investigation of the affair he allegedly indulged in with another student's mother. Police had a hard time deciphering her story from in between the tears.

  


He's the Jezebel of the XY chromosome, screaming eros in a choir of agape. A slut. The boy is a slut. Layman's terms can't compare.

  


I didn't believe it for a while. It wasn't until I saw it for myself that I bought it. I had stepped into the men's restroom to wash my hands before lunch and was stopped short in the doorway. The boy had his back against the wall and his jeans crumpled up on the floor as a classmate held his hips in his hands, his own jeans yanked down to his thighs under the tight vicegrip of the boy's short legs. The classmate froze like a deer in headlights, staring at me with wide eyes before pulling up his pants and scampering out the room. Instead of fleeing, the boy fell down flat on his ass, panting. Slowly, he turned his face to me and smiled. He licked his lips and I ran.

  


Soon after the incident, the classmate dropped out. The boy remained, however. The funny thing is, I never told anyone else about that day.

  


Since then, the boy has been harassing me. He's incessant and inappropriate, from making eyes at me from across the room to leaving explicit fantasies he's had of he and I on wrinkled notebook paper. During class once, he had left me a particularly nasty one.

  


_dear mr. way,_

_how are u??? ive been good haha hey ive been thinkin about u alot. anyways i was thinkin about u last nite i couldnt get any sleep at all so i had to think about u before i could jack off... i was thinkin about u on top of me with my legs all over ur shoulders as u fucked me into the bed and then after that u flipped me over on my knees and fucked me in the ass some more until u made me cum...... i wish it was real haha_

_xoxo frankie_

  
  


I barely made it through before having to stand up from behind my desk and excuse myself, rushing to the bathroom so I could avoid vomiting in front of my students.

  
  


As I hurtled into the handicapped stall and dropped to my knees, I yanked the paper out of my pocket and tore it to shreds, watching as all the little bits of white floated down slowly into the fetid toilet water below. The door suddenly creaked and footsteps echoed closer. They eventually fell quiet behind me and I resisted the urge to swivel my head around to look at the source.

  
  


“Are you okay in there? Mr. Way?”

  
  


I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up and my whole body go rigid.

  
  


That boy, the faunlet. The satyrling. The fucking monster.

  
  


Slowly, I craned my neck around just a bit to see the ankles of tight jeans and muddy Converse peeking from beneath the stall door.

  
  


After a few seconds of deathly silence, the boy stepped back out and I heaved a sigh of short-lived relief before heaving my lunch into the toilet.

  
  


In case you were wondering what class I had bolted out of to puke, it's English 10: a tiptoe above remedial. The class is set up a little strangely, too. The desks, instead of the usual rows, are all situated in a botched circle around the edges of the room to make defunct class discussions a little more engaging, a little less one-sided. The more talkative and annoying of the students were situated closer to me and the more quiet of the bunch got to sit farther away from the Epsilon-grade morons gossiping around my desk.

  
  


The boy sat back with the tolerable kids on the opposite side of the room. This gave him some sort of vantage point. When my back was turned, I could feel his eyes boring holes in me, holes that would most likely leak shame and embarrassment after the bell would ring.

  


Normally, though, things would go decently. For the first month of school, I remember how far the other kids would scoot their desks away from him, like he was squirming with maggots and blisters. It didn't seem to bother him one bit. He was aware, at least, of the rumors weaving their ways in and out of the halls, up and down the streets.

  
  


It didn't bother him. He knew.

  
  


Obviously, I never reported anything in lieu of his harassment. I didn't want my name dragged through the prattling mud. I didn't want the attention, the law on my ass. None of that. Like I said, word spreads fast. That boy was the plague.


	2. obscene

I'm a little bit of a hypocrite I guess, since I wasn't exactly vestal in college. Still, I was more chaste than my friends and a virginal monk compared to him. It was almost unfair to watch that boy slither about the halls like a tiny Don Juan while I sit at my desk and twiddle my thumbs. I haven't had sex with- let alone touched- a woman, in years.

 

Prior to having the pleasure of teaching the boy, I had dated one of the teachers at this school. Three years ago, actually. He was in middle school then.

 

The woman, though, I really did love her. A pretty young thing of twenty-three years old, she taught Creative Writing to the upperclassmen. I was a few years older when we met. Twenty-five with only two years of teaching unruly sophomores under my belt. If you don't mind, I'd like to keep her name out of this.

 

She was really patient and kind, the sort of teacher all the boys fawn over and the girls get jealous of. The girls, they hated her. They'd enter her class with chatty smiles and leave with scowls, they'd drop hateful notes on her desk when she went out of the room, they'd hand in pages of passive aggressive poetry about her for projects- she'd come to me crying, you know. Told me I was the only teacher in the department that understood her. I remember holding her that day. Needless to say, we fell in love.

 

It lasted for a while, too. A couple months. She liked the way I would go on tangents about the books I had my class read and how much I wished they would actually get something out of it. She'd laugh when I showed her the essays written by my worst students, and when we'd sit down and edit it together, she'd kiss me until I forgot just what the hell it was I was even doing anymore.

 

About a quarter later, she transferred to some ghetto school a few cities away. I never saw her again after that.

 

It wasn't fair. It really wasn't. That boy could stomp down the hallway and end up at the other side with embarrassed boys and girls hanging off of his arms like tinsel. I had to wait years before even thinking about getting laid, and the second that thought crosses my mind the girl fucking vanishes. I was reliving my virgin days. I was back to being crumpled on the floor of my filthy apartment, pulling my knees up to my chest and crying about never being able hold onto a girl long enough to know her middle name.

 

That boy had it easy. He was cute, so fucking cute with his droopy brown eyes and button nose. Like a doll, that's what he looked like. His lips, though, those were his crown jewels, plump and wet and just so red, like slimy rubies strewn out across an obscene mouth.

 

Obscene, obscene, obscene. That's the best way to describe him and everything he does.

 

I hated it.

 

Everything that came in and out of his mouth was obscene, everything he wrote.

 

I remember him leaving another letter in my box towards the middle of the year, after he had been harassing me with them before.

 

_dear mr. way,_

_  
_

_have u been reading my letters?? i hope u have haha anyway i had this dream about u the other night like u took me to the movies and we saw somethin i don't remember what is was and we started to make out a lot ur mouth tasted so fuckin good_....... _then u started jacking me off rite in the middle of the theater haha like there were ppl there but you did it anyway......after that u took me home with u and made me suck ur cock for a while as soon as we got inside and then when u were about to cum u bent me over ur kitchen counter and fucked my ass until i came all over it_

_  
_

_write me back ok???? i want this dream to be real_

_  
_

_xoxo frankie_

 

My mouth went dry and my face grew hot. Thank God there was a paper shredder in the office, otherwise I would have lost my mind. Hastily, I flattened out the crumpled paper and fed it into the machine, watching breathlessly as it fell into the plastic basket in tiny strips. It was like I was shredding him, erasing the boy from my life just for a moment.

 

Of course, it only got worse from there.


	3. wired

I guess things really started to escalate towards the middle of the year around Christmas break.

 

I eventually started to get a little more wise towards the boy's guerrilla seduction and didn't bother to read the notes he left, even going so far as to return them stapled to the back of his papers during class. As I had expected, the letters came trickling to a stop.

 

You know, during the whole thing, I had half a mind to tell his parents. Of course, knowing the boy and all the troubles he brought down with him, it wouldn't have been worth it. Arrests have been made over that boy before, two men who could've been innocent were carted off to prison. While I'm not saying they were in fact innocent, there was a chance they might have been. They might have been just like me.

 

The boy knew that and used it to his advantage, the little shit. He took advantage of everything and everyone.

 

This became clear two weeks before Christmas break started. It was a weekend, so I was at home and grading papers, shaking my head sadly at the kids who were most likely going to be grounded over the vacation. The red check marks I scribbled down were growing angrier and angrier before I heard my phone buzz in the other room, rattling across the wood of my bedside table.

 

Now, as a public school English teacher, I'm not paid terribly much. And by not being paid terribly much I mean we're barely paid a dime. I live in a pretty crummy apartment a couple blocks away from the school. It's not really ghetto, but small enough for me to hear my phone in another room. Cold, too. Messy. I've got takeout cartons and pizza boxes everywhere, your regular bachelor pad only I'm twenty-eight years old and past my bachelor prime.

 

My phone's cheap, too. Not a Nokia, like a run-of-the-mill cheap touchscreen. It did the job, I guess.

 

I got up from my desk and walked over to my bedroom as my phone rumbled to the edge of the table, scooping it up and sliding “answer.”

 

“Hey,” a voice rasped through the receiver. It didn't sound familiar and the number was new. I held the phone closer to my ear and spoke back.

 

“Hello? Who is this?”

 

“I miss you,” it said. I could hear something rustling around in the background. “I miss you so fucking bad.”

 

“Excuse me? I, uh... I think you have the wrong number.”

 

There was more shifting on the other end, a hitching gasp. I stood my ground but gulped uncomfortably.

 

“N-no. Mrs. Hill gave it to me, I know it's you.”

 

The little shit. I knew it was only a matter of time before he did something like that.

 

“Never call this number again,” I said firmly, my finger inching towards the end button. The boy only whined in protest and moaned, breathy and deep like the pornstars I had given up on salivating over so long ago.

 

“No, no come on, Mr. Way I-”

 

I couldn't take it anymore and hung up, throwing my phone across the room hard enough to crack the case a tiny bit.

 

I didn't think it could get any worse, but it did. It got so much worse.

 

The following Monday after that incident, the boy was quiet all period. Class got out and the kids all filed through the door into the hallway and even he trailed behind them, scuttling out like crabs. The next period's students all rolled in and everything seemed like it was going fine.

 

Until my phone went off.

 

I scrabbled to get it just before it fell off my desk which earned my some pretty confused looks from my students. It wasn't often that I got calls or texts in class and I should have known better, but I didn't.

 

As soon as I opened up the message I had received, I recoiled back into my chair and choked.

 

It was a picture message, a picture of the boy.

 

It was obviously taken in one of the school's bathrooms since I could recognize the stalls in the background. He stood in front of the mirror, holding the hem of his white shirt between his teeth to expose his stomach, his chest with his hand holding up his phone to his reflection. His eyes were heavy-lidded, like usual and his mouth hung open just so slightly. I felt a lump grow in my throat as I scrolled the picture down lower, briefly seeing his cock held in his other hand before closing out of the message and deleting it. My palms began to sweat and I looked back up at my class, who thankfully didn't seem to notice my panic attack.

 

Biting my lip, I set my phone back down and stood up, excusing myself to go stand in the hallway. The second I stepped out the door, the noise-level flared but it was still more relaxing than having to think about him. I held my head in my hands and leaned against the wall, sighing.

 

Do you know what it's like to be thrown in a situation like that? You can't judge me for walking out.

 

That boy changed everything. I started to change, too.


	4. untrue ungood

I felt stained, like some kind of monster had swallowed up my life and vomited it back out at me, dripping with phlegm, bile, and misguided affections.

 

It got to the point that I had to leave my phone at home, tucked between my mattress and my bed frame so I could just shy away from the problem like I always did. Until the battery died, my phone buzzed incessantly as I would try to sleep. I think the boy was trying to remind me that he was still there, still waiting and salivating in the shadows.

 

For the last few days leading up to Christmas break, he calmed down some. I guess he had figured I ditched my phone as another feeble attempt to keep him out of my mind.

 

He would still look at me, though. From across the room. Despite me sitting him way in the back, he still found ways to harass me. 

 

The boy liked to volunteer and speak out, and it was hardly ever appropriate.

 

“Mr. Way,” I remember him calling out once, raising his hand high in the air. We had been discussing the importance of Julia's Junior Anti-Sex League sash, which I had been dreading because of the boy's eye fixated on me the entire damn time. I swallowed back the rising lump in my throat and looked in his general direction, avoiding the eye contact I knew he must have thrived off of.

 

“So the sash or whatever is supposed to be, like, her virginity, right?” he asked, holding his chin in one hand and drumming his fingers against his desk with the other. “And how she's actually a huge slut? What about you, Mr. Way? Are you a virgin?”

 

Snickers and giggles rolled throughout the classroom and I stood nervously behind my desk, wringing my hands.

 

That boy had some kind of power. The power to dry your mouth and wet your palms.

 

“That's irreleva-”

 

“Nu-uh. I bet you are, aren't you? If you're not, do you just have sex all the time?”

 

I went pale and bit down on my lip, feeling my stomach bubble with acid. I'm surprised I didn't get an ulcer from all of the shit he put me through.

 

“A-after class,” I choked.

 

“What?”

 

“Come see me after class.”

 

Smirking, he sank back in his seat and folded his arms. The other kids all glanced at each other questioningly but I stood my ground.

 

A face like that shouldn't be so intimidating. 

 

The rest of the period went okay that day, aside from the excited murmurings of the rest of the class and the boy's eyes locked with mine. 

 

Dripping, warm honey brown. 

 

Like wet mud oozing across the sidewalks after a sticky, humid storm. Or like the color of a bruise after the blood pooling under your skin grows old and thick.

 

It's not hard to see why everyone wanted him so much with a stare like that. It's the kind of look that gives your heart a little shock, like the pacemaker you never asked for.

 

After the class had spilled out into the hallway, he stood up from his seat and stepped over to my desk.

 

“So what, are you gonna tell my mom and dad?” he asked coolly, leaning across the front of it on his elbows until he was just inches away from my sweating face. My hair was sticking to the sides of my cheeks with grease and he was just fine, not a strand out of place. It wasn't fair. “'Cause if you do, you'll only make things worse for yourself. I get what I want, Mr. Way. And right now, you're what I want.”

 

“You don't even know what you want. You're fifteen,” I snapped back. He recoiled a bit, hurt. 

 

“That's not true.”

 

"Please, Frank," I said softly, bowing my head to avoid meeting eyes again. "Just stop while you're ahead. Please."

 

"I can't. I like you too much."

 

"But why me? Why couldn't you have picked someone else?"

 

The boy didn't say anything. I could feel him looking at me, thinking.

 

“The notes were bad enough,” I went on, not moving my head. “Then you had to call me, and that picture you sent- Why? Why me? Is it because I'm the only person you haven't seduced into your disgusting little trap? Why does it have to be me?”

 

Through the silence, I felt him grab the sides of my head, moving my face until I could see nothing but him staring me down with hooded eyelids.

 

“I don't know. You're mine, though.”

 


	5. adagio con amore

He held onto my face like that for a good moment before I shook him off, standing up at my desk to try and intimidate him, to get him to turn tail and never come back. I didn't want to see his face again. His eyes meeting with mine, swimming with melted chocolate and fucking sunshine- I didn't want it.

 

“Mr. Way, please.”

 

“I can't.”

 

The boy- Frank, his name is Frank- recoiled at that the second the words slipped out of my mouth. “I don't want to be pulled into your shit like everyone else. Find someone different, someone that isn't me.”

 

“But you're different.”

 

“Why?” I sneered, glaring down at his sniveling little form crumpled against the desk in front of me. He wasn't so confident then, the little shit. “Because I'm the last person in this town you haven't seduced? Or whatever else it is you think you're doing?”

 

Clumsily, Frank clambered onto my desk, his hands desperately searching for balance, for footing. With one sweep of his arm he knocked the books I had piled up in front of me to the floor. I grimaced.

 

“What the hell are yo-”

 

He pushed me down onto my chair with forceful, open palms and dropped back down to the floor between my knees.

 

“Will this change your mind?” he asked, gripping the side of my thighs with pale, shaking fingers. I opened up my mouth to beg him to stop, but he had already started to fumble with my belt.

 

It took him less than twenty seconds to get my pants around my ankles. I would have been jealous if I hadn't been so horrified.

 

Everything was so cliché. That must have been how he lured in all his victims.

 

Fucking monster. Quite literally.

 

“Stop,” I said feebly, my mind clouding over as I felt those same pale, shaking fingers fold around the base of my cock. I didn't dare look down at him.

 

God forbid I see those obscene lips wrapped around me.

 

I felt them, though. I felt them slide down until I felt myself hit the back of his throat. He struggled not to gag, I felt that, too.

 

My hand reached out to weakly rest on the top of his head as I leaned back in my chair, my face pointing up towards the ceiling. His hair slipped through my fingers as his head bobbed slowly, catching between them and barely slick with grease.

 

“Stop,” I repeated. He shook his head and lifted up with a wet, embarrassing slurp before coming back down. His breath, coming in short puffs from his nose, reverberated against the bare skin of my crotch and I shuddered.

 

The creak of my door opening made me nearly jump in my seat.

 

“Aren't you going home?”

 

The teacher from a few rooms down had poked her head in, staring at me from where she stood. I sat rigid in my seat and glanced down.

 

Frank's eyes were closed so lightly, I could see his eyelashes just barely dusting against his cheekbones. He drug his tongue slowly, so fucking slowly up the length of my cock, tracing every vein and ridge until stopping just long enough to flash me a smirk before taking me between his lips again.

 

“H-huh?” I said hurriedly and dangerously breathily, pretending to look at whatever was left on my desk. “Oh, oh no I'm just grading papers still. There's so much to be done before I can even think about going home. English, ha.”

 

 

“Do you need any help?”

 

“Help? Help, God no, no help. I don't need any help.”

 

The warm, moist feeling of his mouth and his throat tightening around me was almost enough to make me blow right there, but I leaned over my desk and stared intensely at some papers. “I'm fine, really.”

 

“If you say so,” she sighed, stepping back out into the hallway.

 

I let out a pent up groan, tangling my fingers into his hair and panting. In just seconds after that, I came, roughly yanking my hips back and pulling myself out of his mouth. Cum splattered across his face, his eyes glazed. It dripped from the bridge of his nose and his open mouth slowly almost in stripes, with his cheeks so flushed and red.

 

Frank glanced up at me from between my thighs, catching the dripping fluids with an almost instinctively hungry tongue.

 

“Will you take me home with you tonight?” he asked.

 

I didn't go home alone that night.

 

For the first time in years, I didn't go home alone.


	6. ambiguous and innocent catastrophe

As soon as he followed me inside, I knew that I never should have let that gum-snapping little incubus into my home.

 

There he lay, though, sprawled out on my shitty futon mattress and staring at me expectantly like I knew just what the hell I was doing or what was going on. He glanced around the room, his eyes catching on the garbage I had crumpled all over the place then back to me, and back to the trash again.

 

“I, uh- I've been meaning to clean up,” I said quietly, my back still pressed against the door. At that moment, I felt like some kind of cornered animal that had wandered into the territory of some pint-sized predator. There wasn't any way I could have refused him, though. Had I said no, he probably would have ran off to get his stomach pumped for evidence to use against me. Probably.

 

Frank didn't make the car trip back to my apartment easy, either. My knuckles had remained a constant white as I had gripped onto the steering wheel, with beads of sweat rolling down the creases of my forehead and the back of my neck.

 

As he sat in the passenger seat with his arm stretched across the middle and his hand crammed down my pants, I couldn't help but wonder if he enjoyed ruining lives.

 

I had become a broken man, pushed onto my knees and ridden around town like a pony under the command of some little whore.

 

Frank had me panting at stoplights.

 

When we had arrived at my building, I remember him looking over it distastefully. He trailed behind me as I purposefully trudged up the stairs, knowing taking the elevator would have been an even worse idea. I figured all I needed to do was satisfy him just once, just fill the hollow.

 

Just get it over with.

 

He yanked me down onto my own bed by the front of my sweater, causing me to land on top of him awkwardly.

 

“You never answered me, Mr. Way,” he murmured. “Are you a virgin or not?”

 

“No.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

I looked down at him, suddenly embarrassed. I could see his chest heaving under his shirt and as my eyes trailed upwards, I saw him staring at me. I wanted to shrink back into my sweater like a shell so I'd never have to see his face again.

 

“Yeah, I'm sure. I just- I've never slept with a guy before,” I answered softly, my head bowing before I added: “Or a child, for that matter.”

 

Frank seemed genuinely disturbed by the word “child.” He grabbed the hopelessly wrinkled, lint-covered argyle of my sweater again and grinned.

 

“I think you've got me confused for some kid,” he hissed. “I don't gotta be an adult to fuck like a grown-up.”

 

“You're what, fourteen?”

 

“Fifteen.”

 

“This is illegal. Illegal, and not to mention completely vile. Disgusting.”

 

He shot a smirk up at me and looped his arms around my neck, spreading his legs below me.

 

“Then why did you bring me home?”

 

“Because I thought it would make you leave me the hell alone. Plus, I'm not g-gay.”

 

“Guh-gay,” Frank parroted mockingly. My crass little Dolores. “Not even just a little? I can change that.”

 

For the record, I'm not gay.

 

It didn't matter to him, though.

 

Within seconds, he lifted his shirt past his head, tossing it aside to join the rest of the trash in my room.

 

“If you wanna get this over with so bad, hurry up and fuck me.”

 

I gulped and grabbed him, shoving him onto all fours with his face crammed into my pillows.

 

My hands shook as I pinned him down. I could feel him under my fingertips, his entire body calm like he'd been through this a million times before- which he probably had. I was the same shit to him, just a different story. His back arched and he squirmed in a pretend agony, letting out a hasty, breathy laugh. 

 

“Hurry up, Mr. Way. God, I've been waiting for this for so fucking long,” he spat out, raking his nails against the comforter. I leaned over his back, lowering my wary hands down to his waist to pull down his jeans. I pulled them down to his thighs, right down to his thighs like the first time I ever saw him like that. 

 

Slut.


	7. magdalena

I never thought I would be in a position like that.

 

It wasn't just the moral ambiguity of it all, but the fact that there I was, some grown man at the mercy of a monster I never asked for. Frank craned his neck to watch me from the corner of his vision while I struggled with my own belt and zipper, my hands shaking.

 

“What's taking you so long? Do you need help or something?” he asked slowly, annoyed. I ignored him and shoved my pants down, clawing at my bedside table for the condoms I'd squirreled away for off-chance I'd be sleeping with someone who didn't make me ill. Praying they weren’t expired, I tore the packaging and hastily put it on.

 

Every word he spoke made guilty acid raise to the back of my throat. “Oh my god, come on alread-”

 

“Shut up!” I roared, keeping my head down low. Frank frowned for a moment and my voice dropped down to a harsh, pleading whisper. “Just, just shut up.”

 

“Oh, is Mr. Way a big man? Yeah, I like that.” He was smirking, mocking me. “Show me what you do to boys who talk back, Mr. Way. Show me what a big man like you does. Hit me.”

 

Before I could think to react rationally, my hand shot out and slapped his ass, leaving behind a bright red welt. My palm stung and I could see him recoil in pain, but I hit him again. And again. He moaned and coated his fingers in saliva reaching them from under him, trailing past his stomach and stopping right between his cheeks. “Got any lube?” he rasped. I shook my head silently and he rolled his eyes before slipping the soaked finger into his ass. 

 

He pulled his finger out and rolled onto his back, pulling his knees up to his chest. I could see the raised, red patches from where I had hit him before and bit my lip. They were going to bruise.

 

“There, come on. Fuck me,” Frank hissed. My hands shook almost violently as I eased myself on top of him. He glanced down and reached out his hand to guide me into him and I literally yelped as I felt my cock press against it.

 

“I, I can't do this,” I whimpered, yanking away from him. He glared at me and sat up, pushing me over onto my back.

 

“You don't tell me what you can and can't do,” he jeered, crawling over me. “You don't want people to find out that you're fucking one of your students, do you?”

 

“N-no.”

 

“Then shut up and I'll do all the work for you.”

 

He lowered himself down onto me, pressing one palm flat against my chest for balance and using the other hand to guide me into him again. 

 

I could only lay back and accept my fate.

 

I'd be lying if I said he didn't feel good. 

 

He was slow at first, placing both palms against my chest and easing himself back up, then back down again. His expression changed as he began to pick up the pace, his eyelids half closed and his jaw slack, lips wet with spit and glistening like filthy red spinels. It was a look of pure concentration, of absolute fucking ethereal lust.

 

My young, precious Lilith.

 

It wasn't long before the room was chokingly thick with sweat and pheromones, and the only sounds were gasps, moans, and the telltale noise of slapping skin. 

 

I let my head droop into my pillows as I grasped at his hips, bringing him down onto me before lifting him up again, only to slam him back down. Again and again and again. 

 

He threw his head back and let out a long, whining moan, coming all over his own stomach. Feeling his muscles clench around me, I hurriedly and desperately thrust up into him without any semblance of a rhythm.

 

He disgusted me, sitting on top of me like that. A filthy doll.

 

I hated it.

 

My hands shot up to his neck and squeezed, coming and riding out my orgasm inside him as my fingers pressed against his throat.

 

His eyes grew wide with fear as he tried to bat away my hands, eventually prying off my grip and letting my arms fall lazily to my sides. Bright purple bruises were already forming under his skin and I suddenly became less enraged, watching as he brought his own hands up to his throat to assess the damage I had left.

 

A child's hands, soft and small. Uncallused and still untainted with the scars of age.

 

I violently pushed him off, stumbling to the bathroom and vomiting all over the dirty carpet before I could even make it across the room.


	8. bulimic

We had some sort of relationship after that night, the word “relationship” used in its loosest sense, of course. He spent most of Christmas break in and out of my apartment, spending the day with his family and the night with me.

 

I had always wondered just what his family was like, like what it was that had to go wrong to make him just so damn rotten. From what I had heard from other teachers, his family was relatively normal, wealthy even- as they had lived in the rich part of town. 

 

He had a schedule. Each morning he would crawl out of my bed, put his clothes on, and whip out his phone.

 

“Mom,” he'd whine, sitting on the edge of my bed and grabbing at my pitiful morning wood. “I really, really need you to pick me up today. I mean it. I- No, no I'm not- I'm fine, mom. Listen, just- just pick me up from Matt's apartment and, and yeah.”

 

I'd roll over and groan, covering my eyes with one hand and swatting him away with the other. Sometimes it would work. Sometimes, he would tentatively pull his hand back and roll his eyes. Other times, he'd tear the blue striped comforter right off of my naked body and dive between my legs, taking my cock between those sinful little lips and finishing me off before his mother pulls into the parking lot.

 

As time went on, he had a different name every time it rolled off my tongue. 

 

Frank, Frankie, Fuck.

 

He'd spend the first half of his day at home with his parents. I always thought about what they talked about, too. I graded papers while he was away, not even bothering to scribble down a “see me after class” in red ink.

 

Around the evening or so, his mom would drop him off right outside my building so I could buzz the boy up and start the cycle all over again.

 

I didn't vomit the second time we had sex. Or the third. I'd swallow my bile and my words and fuck him into the stained, filthy mattress.

 

“Oh, fuck yeah,” he'd moan, muffled with his face crammed against the sheets.

 

He liked to get fucked like a dog the most. Like a mutt, a disgusting little animal.

 

For the first few days I continued to use a condom out of fear that I'd catch some kind of new disease brewing in his ass, but I eventually gave up after he had begged me to stop.

 

Frank did a lot of begging.

 

The only time during the break he was gone all day had been Christmas.

 

While he was gone, I was restless. I had paced back and forth from my tiny kitchen to my bed, plopping down and holding my head in my hands, only to get back up and trudge to my desk to go through papers I had already graded. I drew around the F I had scratched across the heading of the boy's paper in rapid, small circles, jamming my pen into the paper as I traced the rigid lines of the letter F. The capital letter F stood tall and proud against the other letters with its two prongs at the left protruding like a flag.

 

A nice letter for such a little fuck-up.

 

Everything I owned began to smell like him. While he was away during Christmas, I bashfully turned my face down and lifted up the fabric of my itchy sweatervest, inhaling the boy's stench. He smelled like a mother's clean linens and misguided affections. I gagged at the scent.

 

He made me sick and I think I may have missed him.


End file.
